


An End to All Things

by agoodtuckering



Category: MOORCOCK Michael - Works, The Elric Saga - Michael Moorcock
Genre: F/M, Fantasy, Implied Sexual Content, Romance, Swords & Sorcery, This needed to be written and I'm not sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2019-04-19 07:34:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14232396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agoodtuckering/pseuds/agoodtuckering
Summary: A brief glimpse of Cymoril and Elric in a moment alone.





	An End to All Things

**Author's Note:**

> This short story takes place in the first year that he is emperor and before Yykroon plans to eventually attempt to usurp him and steal his dear Cymoril away. Everything is still, for the time being, peaceful.

“Do you ever get the feeling that this will never last?” 

Cymoril’s voice was soft, questioning. The tone of it seemed to lull Elric from the restful half-slumber he’d lost himself in. They were lying in bed,  _ his bed,  _ after making love. His body ached and his mind felt fuzzier than usual. 

His head turned, eyes lazily finding Cymoril’s features. “Every day,” he confessed quietly. “Every day, my love. I worry more and more for the sanity of my cousin. He grows ill with greed. The green-eyed monster does mock him so. I wonder when and if he’ll ever make a move against me.”

She turned onto her side, slowly curling into his body and draping a leg over his pale ones. Then, quietly, she spoke. “He’d have to kill his own sister first. He wouldn’t dare lay a finger on me in a harmful way.” 

Elric laughed then. A bit cynical of him, yes, but he was still amused. The sound cut the silence deep. Cymoril’s brows drew together, a curious yet quizzical look finding her beautiful features. She tossed her wild hair behind her before daring to ask, “What is it? Have I said something that’s brought you amusement? It seems like I have.” 

Elric chuckled again before replying, “I’m laughing at the image of his own  _ sister  _ putting a dagger through his heart.  _ You  _ didn’t do anything.” His fingers found their way to forearm, where they caressed her skin softly and sweetly.

She snorted, a hand splayed out across his pale chest now. “I would jump at the chance,” she told him quietly, as if someone might hear her. Not the in Emperor’s chamber, though, she hoped. However, she was a smart sorceress. She knew better. Spies lurked around every corner of Imrryr. The Dreaming City was  _ full  _ of liars and cheats. Such were the games played around the Ruby Throne and their people. 

“Would you?” His question was half-teasing, a hand stroking the long, smooth planes of her back and eventually settling up the curve of her backside. “I have a feeling you really would. You would enjoy it, too. I know you would. You’d be doing our people a favor, putting down that beast.”

She took a moment to bury her nose in his white hair, nuzzling gently at her ear and then behind it. It was a complete contradiction of the conversation at hand. Then again, they never were ones for tradition, Melnibonéan or not. For one, he was a merciful man. Though she may not always understand him, though she might wish he would rule like his ancestors once had, she  _ loved  _ him. For always. 

Cymoril reached for a flask on the bedside table, gently nudging it towards Elric. “Pushing potions on me now?” he asked, eyes finding her features and lingering. He took the ornately carved flask, eyes falling to the dragon-bone and waiting for her to answer him.

“You need your strength,” she told him, as if that explained everything. “Drink. I’m not finished with you yet tonight.” As if to further her point, she slipped on top of him and gently pressed her hips to his. Weak or not, he was beautiful to marvel. She wanted to spend her evening loving every single piece of him. She loved her albino Emperor. One day she might even be his  _ Empress.  _ She knew that was what he truly desired. 

She spent a few minutes delicately tracing his muscles with a few fingers, taking her time as if to map out his beautifully-sculpted body as he drank from the flask.  _ “My White Wolf,”  _ she murmured gently to him, lips curling into a delicate,  _ loving  _ grin. 

“Always,” he answered softly. 

Here, locked away in his chambers, they found peace. It was so rare, so precious. This bubble of happiness he had claimed for them. Little did they know that she was right, and it would never last. _All good things must one day come to an end._


End file.
